


Model Behavior

by violet_vance



Series: Model Behavior [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst? I'm going to call this angst, Identity Issues, Idk if this is dark...everything i write is dark so maybe I'm numb to it rip, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jason Gideon being Jason Gideon, M/M, Model!Spencer, Morgan wants to help though, No beta we die like illiterates, Non-Consensual Kissing, Sad Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug, and Ex-CIA, idk man my mind went 'Ex-Undercover Model/CIA Spencer' and this happened, or Ex model lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:07:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27356233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violet_vance/pseuds/violet_vance
Summary: “You know,” Morgan breaks the silence, tone teasing. “Behind those nerdy glasses, ugly grandpa cardigans, and ill-fitting slacks...my pretty boy could be a real heartbreaker.”If Reid’s laugh holds a hysterical tinge, Derek doesn’t mention it. Spencer's craving another smoke (or something stronger and not allowed) but it isn’t worth the disappointed eyes the older agent will give.“The clothing’s just a front,” Reid admits, instead. His voice sounds overly light; he’s joking too, except deadly serious. “I can’t wear things which look good and fit—people might actually notice me.”
Relationships: Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid & The BAU Team
Series: Model Behavior [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1997938
Comments: 40
Kudos: 342





	Model Behavior

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!!! this is my first criminal minds fic and my first actually posted fic in YEARS. sharing writing is scary dude.  
> Inspired heavily by 898700 (ghostwriter)'s "life as a pretty boy" - go check that out too!!
> 
> Also: This is set somewhere between Elle leaving & Emily arriving. The Tobias Hankle situation happens while Reid's in the CIA and is relatively similar to canon, with a few key differences I might explore if I continue the series.

They’re holed up at O’Keefe’s on a Friday night while comparing body counts (the sex-kind, not the kill-kind).

Spencer almost wishes it were kill counts. Almost, because—

_(—such a pretty doll for me, ‘Pen—_

_—drugged up veins and hallowed estate hallways—_

_Screams: repent, repent, repentrepentrepent YOU MUST BEG FOR YOUR SINS—SINNERS—REPENT—)_

“—Damn JJ, had you pegged for more.” Right. The bar. It’s a dive sort of place, with dim lighting and the soft buzz of conversation overlaying steady, bluesy tunes. Morgan, Reid, Penelope, and JJ linger by the back corner of the space. It feels empty without Elle, but no one wants to mention it. JJ ducks her head bashfully, at Morgan’s last comment.

“Well it’s not like I had the chance to party in college. Soccer consumed every waking moment I wasn’t sleeping or studying for class.”

There’s more of a story there, but Reid’s not one to pry. JJ’s general ‘good girl’ instincts speak to a need for her to compensate for some other aspect of her earlier life. A personal tragedy? Probably close to home. Or could be guilt manifesting through over-achievement. Spencer’s no stranger to that.

Morgan either knows JJ’s history, or can read her well enough to know he shouldn’t push. He lifts a hand, palm faced outward in mock surrender, before turning his focus on Reid.

“How ‘bout you, kid? That unsub takedown on Wednesday was...surprising. You holding out on us, pretty boy?”

“I—no.” Spencer says too quickly. He inwardly berates himself for giving in to the single round of shots Morgan insisted on paying for. Spencer doesn’t drink, and he’s barely feeling it, but it’s enough to throw off his poker face.

Penelope sees his slip and latches onto his hesitation like a shark toward the scent of blood. A sparkly rainbow shark maybe, but the point is that Spencer's scared. And oh—maybe he is actually feeling the buzz.

“Baby genius like, totally gets game.” Penelope says loudly to Morgan. If Spencer’s buzzing right now, Garcia’s queen bee.

“We all saw it. Who knew boy wonder could be, like, hot. He’s so pretty, I mean duh. And the cheekbones. But that was, yeah. Wow.”

Across from her, Morgan doesn’t respond. JJ eyes Reid sympathetically.

Spencer decides to shut this conversation down with a white lie before it can further devolve.

“I’ve slept with one person, I don’t—“

Garcia cuts him off. “I love you baby genius, but that’s a load of flaming unicorn poo. You don’t make moves like you did on Wednesday without practice.”

Penelope smiles, reaches out and taps her index finger to the end of Spencer’s nose as if transferring observational wisdom via her magical touch.

The tech-analyst is on her 4th watermelon margarita compared to Spencer’s measly shot. Her movements are over-exaggerated and theatrical, but Spencer knows Garcia won’t let him off the hook. And it’s implied that practice for him directly correlates with the added sex; the team doesn’t see Reid as likely to take home a stranger from the bar.

They aren’t wrong about Reid either, but Spencer hasn’t had the luxury of just being Reid. Grey is a whole separate beast, though. He wouldn’t know where to begin even if he was allowed to talk about it. The team knows he’d been CIA but nothing beyond. Everything else was classified. And before his undercover work...

He looks toward Morgan, helplessly. The man tips his own glass, a mock salute as if to say _‘hey, don’t look at me.’_ Which is bullshit—bull _crap_ , he internally corrects (because swearing belongs to Grey and not SSA Dr. Spencer Reid)—because Morgan could shut down Penelope in half a second if he really wanted. The dark man’s eyes looked too curious for his own good. He’s interested in Spencer’s answer, too.

“Fine, whatever." He makes a deal of looking to the ceiling in indignation. "You win. I’ve slept with three people.” And Spencer’s even somewhat telling the truth this time.

Morgan, ever the profiler, looks like he thinks there’s more to the story, but Penelope and JJ seem satisfied.

“Whatever you say, boy wonder. Send some flowers to whoever taught you how to make-out, cus’ that video footage was steamy.”

“I’ll pass your approval along.”

The conversation moves toward how many people Gideon and Hotch have likely bedded. Which, ew. Hotch might be attractive in a toxic ‘screw-out-my-daddy-issues’ sort of light, but the thought of his mentor in bed leaves Reid nauseous in a way that has nothing to do with alcohol. Spencer flags down the bartender to get some water.

The ‘steamy make-out’ as Penelope put it, had happened during an unsub take-down earlier in the week.

They profiled Lola Stanley as a delusion-driven stalker with homicidal rage when her affections weren’t returned. She got interviewed by Reid earlier in the case because he best fit the victimology: young, physically small, professionally successful, submissive at the outset. Nerdy and overlooked. Unassuming.

They didn’t have enough to nail her at that point. They knew she had a role in the killings, but they lacked the physical evidence to connect her to each crime.

All they had was the profile. The unsub chose victims as surrogates for the man she watched die in her childhood, a positive role model she became fixated on after his death. He was likely abused, or trapped in an abusive relationship. Not a father figure, based on the romantic attachment displayed on the 5 victims. Possibly a close family friend. Stanley’s psychopathology pointed to severe delusion-driven behavior, and her killings probably occurred when the delusion became interrupted. Spencer was no stranger to violent outbursts in the wake of such obtrusions. His mother loved him, but sometimes when he tried to talk her down she would take it as a personal betrayal.

In sum, Reid had plenty of experience working with types like Lola. Gideon assigned him the interview, personally.

“Reid will handle her.” were his mentor’s exact words.

No one but Hotch looked into it. Reid hadn’t missed the sharp look his boss gave Gideon following the orders, but he didn’t actively stop Reid so Spencer dutifully did as told.

Later, gun aimed at his head in their hotel parking lot, Spencer wondered if this had been Gideon’s plan from the get-go. Except he didn’t actually wonder; this was absolutely a Jason Gideon-calculated move.

“Lola, hi. I’ve been looking for you,” he keeps his voice steady, energetic. He ignores the presence of her firearm completely, his posture relaxed and open as he stamps out a half-finished cigarette (it's another of Grey’s vices, he self-reprimands, unsuited for Dr. Reid to keep). Lola blinks as if confused.

Reid continues, mind split between talking down their unsub and texting Gideon from where his left-hand catches his phone in his pocket. He mentally calculates the location of the letter keys given his screen angle and relative hand positioning.

_Parking lot for arrest in 5. Loop me in fully next time. -SR_

Text sent, he turns his attention fully to the situation at hand. Within the last day, they had profiled the unsub’s fixation mirrored that of an obsessive stalker. She projected the character of the man she knew— they still hadn’t been able to trace exactly _who_ he was—onto any person who looked similar and treated her with a modicum of decency. Reid had done that, in the interview. He can work with this, he knows. He mentally prepares to play out his part. 

“When I saw you yesterday, I knew. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Do you believe in love at first sight?”

Her blue eyes widen. She keeps hold of the gun but her grip relaxes slightly. It’s dumb and cheesy and overdone but she’s amidst a delusion and ready to take his words at face.

Deeper, Spencer could suspect what happened to her. The clear psychotic break, the childlike attachment to romantic fantasy. Garcia had pulled up Stanley’s history, and it made the doctor’s chest tighten, makes him feel uneasy about what he has to do now. But this is the unfortunate way of the job. He takes a breath and restarts.

“At the station when I saw you, everything changed. I wanted to kiss you right then and there, but no one would understand. I—I want to still, if...”

Spencer breaks the eye contact, looks down and forces himself to blush. Eager yet submissive—this will draw her in. A second later, it does. she’s lowering the gun, pressing closer and closer and before he knows it her lips catch on his.

It occurs to Reid that he could get mad at Gideon for what's happening, but right now he’s just grateful. Law involvement pointed to suicide by cop, and as far as targets go: better him than someone innocent and unaware. Gideon trusts Reid to handle this, which is more than Reid can say about the rest of the team. They think he’s naive, and they baby him. They see him as young and weak— _our little genius_ —and they don’t know about the men he’s killed or brought to his bed for a case, the sins which slowly suffocate him along the way.

_(You’re a sinner. S-i-n-n-e-r. sinnnersinnersinner—_

_Confession could never quite absolve him from the shame)._

He kisses Lola back hard. Filthy even, because she needs to be distracted. It’s wet and germ-ridden and frenzied, tongue practically down each other’s throats. Grey’s done this too many times for a past mission. It’s repetitive at this point, routine. He catches movement from the side door right before he twists and snatches her gun, spins and aims it back at her. Like a light switch, the situation resolves.

She’s screaming profanities, accusations framed with words like ‘hate’ and ‘betrayal’ and ‘trusted’ but she’s handcuffed, disarmed, and no longer a threat.

Spencer wipes his mouth on his sleeve. Unsub in custody, no casualties. Today is a win, Reid decides. He suppresses the mild urge to gag, a dirty feeling in his mouth. He’s not helpless, and he’s not a scared CIA rookie, in too deep. He’s SSA Doctor Spencer Reid, FBI, genius. He’s seen so much worse than a kiss.

Behind him, Morgan whistles, alerting him of the team’s arrival.

“Damn, pretty boy. That was a hell of a diversion tactic.”

Spencer scans the scene while the rest of the team takes over. Gideon moves in to secure and process Stanley. He reaches to pat Spencer’s shoulder as he passes and the genius involuntarily tenses.

“All good, Reid?” asks Hotch, voice concerned, but not overly. Spencer’s touch avoidance is well known. Spencer’s still quick to reassure the unit chief.

“Happy we got her before she could kill again. Tired and looking forward to a full night’s sleep.” Reid says.

After a moment: “Still a little jumpy from adrenaline, but waiting for the inevitable crash.” Spencer folds his arms, his shoulders hunching inward. It makes him smaller; less of a threat, more of a young agent still adjusting to the job.

Hotch doesn’t quite smile in response, but it’s close. “Get some rest,” he says. “You’ve earned it.”

Beyond Reid, Hotch’s gaze turns back to Gideon and sobers. Spencer can infer Hotch isn’t happy with Gideon using him as bait, let alone with doing so unannounced to the rest of the team.

But Reid can handle it. If Grey’s undercover didn’t break him—hell, if his childhood didn’t do Spencer in—then this sure wouldn’t shake his control. It’s just been a while, since Spencer had to engage that way for a job. He’ll get over it. Hotch is overreacting.

Hotch departs with a nod and heads towards Gideon, likely to have said words about Reid. Gideon will call Hotch out on babying Spencer and Hotch will tell Jason his lack of communication caused undue danger. Both will raise good points and will probably not listen to what the other says. Well, whatever. Reid doesn’t have the energy left to care.

Around them, a chill settles over dark skies. Spencer shivers and tries to curl into his thin cardigan—vomit brown with green stitches strung throughout, like moldy lumps of rice. It’s three sizes too large and Spencer swims in the fabric. What it has in repulsive design, it unfortunately in lacks heat retention quality.

Spencer sighs. His breath mists into the air behind steady blinking lights of red and blue. He wishes he brought a better jacket. The cold is especially bad for him. His body’s still too malnourished to correctly regulate heat, and he’s not gaining BMI but not fast enough, according to his doctors.

After a moment, Derek steps closer towards Reid. It’s just the two of them now.

“Hey, pretty boy.”

He reaches forward to ruffle Reid’s hair then suddenly he’s all up in Spencer’s personal space. Warmth radiates off the older man. Spencer has to stop himself from drawing even closer, from letting this man blanket him in his arms and fully shield Spencer from the wind-chill and the world.

Morgan's other hand briefly catches on Reid’s wrist and he lets out a surprised hum.

“Woah—you’re cold as hell, kid.”

He tries not to miss Morgan’s body heat either, once the man steps aside.

“Well it’s not my fault,” Spencer immediately complains back, a little petulant. “It’s not like I can consciously control my body temperature.”

23.2 yards away, JJ’s coordinating a statement to the press. Elle is long gone from them, back to New York, maybe. Reid misses her despite their short interaction. They had a connection which he mourns the loss of. He wonders who will replace her.

Absurdly, he remembers his night in Paris with Emily Prentiss—Lauren, technically at the time—and takes a moment to hope her profiling aspirations might bring her to the BAU. Not because he particularly liked her, but it’s been so long since he could talk to someone else in the know. Gideon’s got intel, but he’s blind to the darkest of it.

Well, Reid keeps him blind to the darkest. He’d gotten Reid into the CIA at newly 16, and he’d saved Spencer’s life by doing it but he’d damned a part him, too. It’s over now though. Water under the bridge. Gideon’s got all this guilt already; about Stephan, about Sarah, about victims dead before the cases even crossed to the desk of the BAU. Spencer doesn’t want to add more. He’s fine, really. He’s managing. Though an open ear would be nice.

“You did good work tonight, Reid.” Morgan’s still by him, a quiet presence to Reid’s noisy thoughts.

“Lives of stake, as they say. ‘You conquer with the sword, but you are conquered by a kiss.’ Guess Heinsius was right.”

They pause, for a moment. Unsure of what’s left to be said.

“You know,” Morgan breaks the silence, tone teasing. “Behind those nerdy glasses, ugly grandpa cardigans, and ill-fitting slacks...my pretty boy could be a real heartbreaker.”

If Reid’s laugh holds a hysterical tinge, Derek doesn’t mention it. Spencer's craving another smoke (or something stronger and _not allowed)_ but it isn’t worth the disappointed eyes the older agent will give.

“The clothing’s just a front,” Reid admits instead. His voice sounds overly light; he’s joking too, except deadly serious. “I can’t wear things which look good and fit—people might actually notice me.”

“Hey—woah, no. We notice you, pretty boy. You look good however you dress.”

Spencer doesn’t roll his eyes, but it’s close. Voices blend into background noise in the parameter of the parking lot, and below them he can hear the steady thrum of the electricity behind the streetlights shining down.

“Let’s finish processing the scene.” He says. He walks away before Morgan gets the chance to respond.

Spencer knows it’s unfair to get frustrated. Of course Morgan takes his comment the wrong way. There’s really no right way for Derek to take them. It’s not like Spencer can say his appearance is literally a counter-measure disguise so he’s less likely recognized as newly deceased Pen Grey, a runway model with shady international ties.

Like most models, he wasn’t a household name, wasn’t even super recognized outside the industry. But he was recognized enough—one witness’s teenage daughter who follows Fashion Weekly News could spell a whole world of trouble for Reid if he wasn’t careful.

Especially until the co-op completed in full. Grey might have “died,” but the CIA still had months to go until they could take down the drug-empire he’d spent 4 years getting intel on.

Spencer doesn’t care how he looks either; he’s had a morbidly fun time growing out his hair and searching for atrocious sins against fashion to commit at work. It feels like revenge against how shitty he got treated leading up to shows. Last week, he wore a vest so ugly that JJ actually gagged—and she _actively_ tries to be nicer to Spencer about his outfits than the rest of the team. It’s one of Reid’s fondest memories at the bureau so far.

No, he cares because he’s tired of hiding, and Morgan’s the one who said it. There’s this small, terrible part of Spencer who wants to look good for the other man and it’s bad for all sorts of reasons he can’t name.

Literally: Spencer knows he’s got Issue with a capital ‘I’ and he’s physically barred from speaking about them until his mission status gets declassified. And not speaking about it is further driving him insane.

More than that too, Spencer’s kind of a mess. He needs to figure his own shit out—his own _crap_ out, Dr. Reid doesn’t curse—before he’s ready to date someone else. And Derek is special. He deserves a whole lot more than Spencer could promise to give.

So Spencer buries his feelings. This is something Dr. Reid specializes in.

He’s practical, thick-skinned. He’s too intellectual to show emotional biases—ironic because Grey’s prone to mood swings, neediness. Grey relies on Dilaudid to keep him numb enough to follow through ‘til the end and the CIA to keep him safe while he does. Dr. Reid relies on statistical probabilities and his cold, detached observation. Mostly, he relies on only himself.

Except, maybe Reid can afford to lean on his team. Nothing too deep less they run away like every other person in Spencer’s life when the burden of his presence finally becomes too much to bear. But maybe he can let them in, partially.

He shouldn’t let himself hope the BAU will be different. And yet…

When he boards the jet and Morgan hands him a coffee just how he likes it, all sugar and small splash of cream (a rare _Spencer_ thing, not uniquely preferred by either Grey or Dr. Reid), he feels like he might belong somewhere for the first time in years.

JJ smiles when she brushes past him in the aisle on his way to pick a seat, affectionate hand squeezing his arm. Hotch looks up briefly from across the plane at them and nods, apparently satisfied, before looking back down at his phone.

The ex-model glances at Gideon, setting up their chessboard; his mentor gestures to the seat saved across. _Up for a game?_ he seems to imply. Spencer’s never turned him down.

And— _oh_. He loves these people more than anything. It’s a novel feeling to indulge. Maybe this is why he agrees when Penelope invites him to Friday’s post-work drinks, once they make it to the office from the plane.

\---

They’re holed up at O’Keefe’s on a Friday night while comparing body counts until Penelope and JJ take a bathroom break. It’s only Morgan and Spencer now, and Derek’s looking like he knows there’s more to Spencer than the surface level number admitted.

“Three—really?” he says. It’s open, inviting Spencer to elaborate without pushing. Spencer has to clamp down on the reflex to close himself off.

Morgan is good, he knows. Safe. Gideon says he needs to open up more. He can’t tell his team his full story, and the parts he can tell he’s even less inclined to share. But he can open up a tiny bit, at least. Morgan’s worth it. Spencer makes his choice and hopes he won’t regret this.

“Three,” he confirms, whispers. He almost chokes on the words but forces them out anyways. “Three...that count.”

Morgan reads between the lines almost immediately. His face hardens for the fraction of a second, before he smooths out his forehead and wipes his frown. What replaces it is a gentle look, so soft, god. Too soft to be deserved for someone like Spencer whose all hard walls and broken edges and track marks which won’t quite seem to fade.

Morgan reaches forward for him hesitantly and Spencer allows himself to lean into it. Big hands come to warp around his narrow hips. they’re facing each other, less than a foot apart. it’s intimate. Like, really intimidate. Spencer feels...delicate, in Derek’s hold. Like he could shatter at any moment. He’s a little bit terrified, honestly. But the soft look in Derek’s eye stays. And he knows Derek won’t let him break.

“You—pretty boy, you need to know you matter to me.” Derek breathes out a little shaky. Morgan must be tipsy. Not drunk, but enough to lower his inhibitions for him to admit this, to Reid. “You matter to the whole team, and the whole world, and you just...matter, Spencer. You know that, right?”

Spencer never felt he’s been enough for this world, let alone like he mattered to it. Yet he knows Morgan’s words come out sincere. He only uses Spencer’s name when he’s dead serious about what he’s saying.

“You matter to me too, Morgan.” Spencer says. Morgan looks like he still wants to say more, but he restrains himself when he sees Reid’s not done. “I’m not used to being important to people.” Spencer admits. He ducks his head, unable to keep his eye contact. “I—uh. I know I’m not easy to get to know. I’m trying to let you guys in, but it’s going to take me time.”

Days, weeks, years maybe. In truth, Spencer’s still trying to sort Grey from Dr. Reid. On his worst days he’s not even sure if Dr. Spencer Reid exists, or if he’s just another cover identity for Spencer to hide behind: another way for him to escape actually facing himself.

Morgan nods though, as if he understands. “Take all the time you need, pretty boy. We’ll be here when you’re ready.”

And that’s the thing: he’s not ready. At least not yet. But for Derek, Spencer realizes, he would like to be.

**Author's Note:**

> maybe I'll continue this into a series? I mostly wanted to #set up things in this. Ideas? Thoughts? Thanks for making it to the end!


End file.
